


speeding down the finish line

by yetanotherfangirl



Category: One Direction(band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:55:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yetanotherfangirl/pseuds/yetanotherfangirl
Summary: Harry is secretly crushing on Zayn until an accidental meeting at a pub finally gives him the chance to talk to him.





	speeding down the finish line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PigSlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PigSlay/gifts).



> Wow! I finally managed to write a fic. I know it's imperfect but it's my first time writing a fic and I enjoyed it a lot. I hope you like it PigSlay. Thanks to lavenderbrowns for beta'ing on such a short notice.
> 
> based on [ this prompt](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/150676610427)
> 
> Title from Kygo's First Time

The most profound discovery Harry makes in the first year of uni is that he isn’t exactly 100% straight. It’s funny, really, now that he thinks about it. It took him eighteen years, eight months, and ten days to come to this realisation.

***

Harry first sees Zayn during the orientation in the auditorium on the first day of college. Harry, being the good kid he is, sits upfront, tapping his legs nervously while looking around for a familiar face. It seems everyone knows everyone, except Harry. The fake enthusiasm he had built to benefit his mom when she came to drop him off last night, was now wearing thin. What if everybody turned out to be way too smarter than him? What if they thought he wasn’t cool?

The noise is starting to grate on his nerves, when the principal walks in. Harry’s almost groans in anticipation of the boring, tired speech that the principle, no doubt, repeats every year. 

That’s when he sees him. Red plaid on white shirt, skinny jeans torn at the knees.

The first thought that enters Harry’s mind is: Naiice.

The second is: Where did that come from?

The guy is standing behind the principal, just outside the edge of the stage. He has brown skin, his hair a shaggy mess. Harry shifts his attention to the principal, because what business does he have noticing cute objectively good-looking college boys. He shifts in his seat angling himself away from the direction of cute guy. Two minutes later his eyes find their way back to him, who is now sniggering at something the principal is saying.

‘Focus, Harry’, he tells himself and for three minutes he really does listen to the student speaker, who came in right after the principal, share his experience of the first year of uni. It is funny, meant to make all incoming freshers at ease, but not – as Harry’s lingering gaze tells him- as interesting as the cute guy thrumming his fingers against his tight black skinnies. Harry doesn’t understand this sudden compulsion to have his eyes on the guy all the time, but he’s not questioning it right now.

***

The cute guy’s name is Zayn Malik, Harry learns from the poster Zayn puts up in the halls, calling for new recruits to the Art Society. Zayn’s face really does lend itself well to art, Harry’s brain thinks before a more rational part of the brain shuts him up.

***

Turns out, college is not as bad as Harry had built up in his mind; the people are neither high strung snobs or petty drunkards as he had thought. He’s slightly ashamed of his prejudice.

He befriends Niall, after two day of going straight to class and then back to his room, when they both get lost in the campus looking for a T.Lab for their Intro to Economics class. Turns out it is a forgotten room at the end of the fourth floor which probably hadn’t been opened in the last fifty years. The professor is a senile seventy-year-old who speaks to the walls, leaving the rest of the class to play on their phones.

Niall, Harry learns, is a Political Science major from Ireland, and is the lead singer in this indie band called ‘Niall and the Potatoes’ with these other five kids from his major class.

The first thing that enters Harry’s mind is: What a name?

The second is: How did he form a band on the first day of uni?

It’s because Niall is Niall, Harry learns. Niall can’t walk two steps without greeting, or being greeted by someone. By the end of that Harry’s sure that Niall knows the name of every student, teacher and the supporting staff of the college.

Two weeks into the semester, Harry returns to his room to find the other bed occupied by an open suitcase with clothes spilling out.

“Hi, I’m Louis,” a thin guy, with swoopy brown hair greets him with his palm extended and an innocent smile playing on his lips. He stands on a mountain of socks, his arms full of different types of cereal. “Sorry I’m not really good at keeping my stuff organised. I’m working on it.”

He absolutely wasn’t working on it. He turns out to be exactly the kind of raucous, disturbing energy that Harry was afraid of in high school. But, to his surprise, they get on so well that Harry starts going to whatever secret rave Louis manages to get invited to. And by “going” he means getting dragged to them by Louis.

Between him and Niall, Harry sheds a lot of his inhibition. New surroundings don’t intimidate him as they used to. It doesn’t feel like the world is stretching its legs to trip him anymore.

The first semester passes by in a blur of drunken haze. If somebody asked Harry had to sum up his first semester he would point at the picture stuck on his mirror of Niall, Louis and him, shitfaced at some party (freshmen rave? Frat party?). The picture’s blurry. Niall is sprawled on the ratty sofa, his eyes droopy and red; Louis staring directly into the camera, his teeth bared while he holds a bottle of whiskey in right arm. Harry is on the floor, looking at Louis like he hung the moon in the sky.

It isn’t the best picture of them. Years later Harry will think that the one taken at Louis’ house in Doncaster where they will go down to the first week of winter break is definitely better but it’s the first ever picture of the three of them and Harry’s a sap over it.

He sees Zayn once or twice that semester, openly that is. He is not counting the times Zayn swims into his periphery sometimes in hallways, behind him in the cafeteria line, next to him in parking lot. Or the times Harry stares at him from under is books in the library where Harry has learnt Zayn spends 3 out of 4 Wednesdays of a month. Zayn sketches and Harry hands almost itch to extend a hand and grab his sketchbook to see what he draws.

Zayn sketches in the stands every day at 6 o’clock where the footie team practices. Harry’s there too dragged along by Louis who spends countless evenings at the football ground hoping to make the cut next year. Zayn also happens to carry a guitar over his shoulder as he walks the hallways and Harry wonders if it’s a ploy to attract girls (or guys, a voice inside him says, which he dutifully ignores.)

They orbit each other without their paths ever crossing. Harry finds him smoking with this other guy behind the Science Block every Saturday and Wednesday. It’s not that Harry is stalking Zayn or anything. It’s just that Harry has a fixed route from his dorm to his Wednesday class, and Zayn just happens to be there.

The other guy’s name is Imran. Again, Harry isn’t a creepy stalker. Imran’s name comes up on his facebook friend suggestions. Coincidence.

Zayn happens to be best friends with Liam from the footie team who is dating Cheryl, who is friends with Jesy who lives in same housing as Harry which essentially means Harry is tangentially connected to Zayn and can strike up a conversation with him. Although when Harry really thinks about it, he can’t come up with a reason why he would want to talk to Zayn.

Zayn also hangs out with the guys from the footie team. Harry sees them going to the Globe, the pub closest to campus, together or sometimes the guys convince Zayn to join them on the field. That always ends disastrously. But Harry likes it, likes watching Zayn stumble and be comfortable enough around his friends that he can make a fool of himself. It makes Zayn human, and gives him a tiny glimpse into Zayn’s life.

 

***

Thankfully his second semester is less alcohol driven than the first. Harry returns to uni and Louis welcomes him being giving him a once over and saying,” You’ve grown hot.” Harry had shot up two inches taller, the pudginess of his face was gone and his hair had become much less of a nuisance once he got a haircut. Harry is acutely aware of the glances that girls, and guys, throw at him in the hallways. Harry, however, passes under Zayn’s radar who seems untouched by Harry’s charms.

Although they’ve cut back on drinking, they still frequent the Globe. Liam and the rest of the footie team also go every Friday. This is very well suited to Louis who spends half the night chatting up different members of the team so that he can get an in.

One day, Harry goes to the Globe without Louis and Niall. He’s at the counter having a drink when Liam walks in.

“Hey, Liam,” Harry calls out. 

Only because he looked lonely and Harry doesn’t want Liam to look pathetic to people. Not because he wanted an excuse to be in the vicinity of Zayn’s social life. He has only talked to Liam once or twice, but now seems like a good time to foster this relationship. Liam shakes his head to get rid of the rainwater.

“Where’s the rest of the team?” Harry asks.

“Studying,” Liam says. “Important test tomorrow, but I already finished revising. Need a break.”

Harry smiles at that. Both he and Liam are too Type A to leave studying to the last minute. He thinks they’ll get along.

“Zayn’s the usual tutor, but he’s busy tonight so they’re on their own.” Liam says, and Harry is grateful that he doesn’t notice the way Harry’s ear perks up at the mention of Zayn’s name.

“Oh,” Harry says, “Why’s that?”

Liam takes a swig of his beer. “He’s gone a date with his boyfriend.”

The first thing that enters Harry’s mind is: Shit, I have a chance.

It’s like someone has put a filter on the entire scene. Everything seems bright, intense, and slightly unreal. There’s the bass of the music throbbing in Harry’s veins, there’s the condensation mark left on the counter by Harry’s glass, there’s the bartender in the distance flirting with a brown haired girl. Everything seems to go in slow motion.

The second thing that enters Harry’s mind is: Shit, I don’t have a chance.

The filter’s off.

“I didn’t know he was - ” Harry begins.

“Gay?” Liam offers. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Harry almost laughs at that. Harry doesn’t have a problem, not at all. “No, definitely not.”

Liam eyes him curiously but goes back to his drink. “Imran and him have been dating for about two months. They’re really cute.”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for him to feel both happiness and dejection at the same time, but that’s precisely how he feels.

He stays with Liam for a while longer before heading back to his dorm. He would have thought that the realisation of his sexuality should probably have come with more fanfare but he feels normal. He doesn’t feel like he made life changing realisation. He wants to laugh.

Once he learns that Zayn is dating Imran, he seems to see them everywhere- at the campus coffee shop cuddling, in the stands during footie practice. It’s like the universe is enjoying making him miserable.

“You’re such a sap.” Louis tells him one day.

“Why?”

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you pining over Mr. Malik,” Louis says with a sly grin.

“I wasn’t talking in my sleep, was I?” Harry asks, horrified.

“Please,” Louis laughs. “I didn’t need to go that far. You turn red every time he walks past you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Well, he’s hot,” Harry pouts. “I can’t help it.”

“It’s all right. We’ve all been there.”

All in all, Harry’s doing fine when it comes to the Zayn thing. He takes a U-turn when he sees the two of them ahead, he sends sappy song requests in the campus radio station. Louis makes fun of him, Harry flips him off.

***

It’s the last day of term. The Globe is packed; Niall and his band have scored a gig tonight which probably explains the enormous crowd that has gathered there. Harry watches in amazement as Niall works the room.

“Glad thing, you shits are here.” Niall hugs them. “Look at this, me and John and Clay all got matching denim jackets.”

“Wow, you’re already winning there, Niall.” Louis scoffs. Niall smacks the side of his head.

There is another band that is supposed to perform before Niall’s and the air’s getting thicker and thicker as people stream in.

“It’s been a year, Harry,” Louis says, once Niall is gone. “Maybe you should try talking to your boy tonight.”

“Doesn’t look like he’ll come,” Harry replies. Harry has seen Zayn only once or twice at the bar and that was only after a football game.

“You might have to rethink that,” Louis says, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around.

The entire team stumbles through the door, Zayn in tow. He’s locked under Liam’s grip who loosens his hold on Zayn to greet Niall.

Imran is nowhere to be seen.

The team, along with Zayn, disappear somewhere in the crowd. The crowd gets thicker as the night wears on.

“Why don’t you go get us beer?” Louis says at one point.

“Why do I have to go?”

“Because you’re cute. The bartender will give one extra glass if you smile and show some dimples. Might give two if you put out.”

Harry humphs but goes to the bar anyway. Louis is right, it turns out. He asks for a regular but the bartender hands him two large steins of beer and flashes him a smile.

Harry returns the smile, he’s nothing but polite, although he’s not feeling that emotion when he has to balance these two large beers through the crowd. The smell of alcohol and sweat hangs in the air and Harry’s surprised at that all these people have somehow fit in this place.

Harry’s carefully making his way through the crowd when something pokes him on the sides, rather hard, and the glass slips over Harry’s hand. He manages to save it from falling and crashing, but almost half the liquid has sloshed out if the glass and there’s a stained white shirt staring him in the face.

He looks up to apologise and meets Zayn’s eyes.

“I-,” he stutters,” I’m sorry.”

Harry’s panicking. It’s not just the close proximity that has him undone. He can’t believe that the first time he interacts with Zayn it’s because he spilled beer on his shirt.

“I’ll just clean that up,” Harry says, making a move to wipe that shirt with a tissue paper before he aborts the motion because how much more embarrassing can he be?

“It’s alright,” Zayn laughs. “It’s not your fault, it’s so crowded in here. I turned around for a bit and now I’ve lost my friends.”

“I feel bad,” Harry says, once he has regained control of motor functions. “If you bring it by I can wash it for you?”

“It’s okay,” Zayn placates him. He points to Harry’s Sad Symphony T-shirt. “I like your shirt by the way. I’m a huge fan of the band.”

“You too?” Harry exclaims. “No way! You’re the only person I’ve come across who knows them.” Harry can’t believe it. Zayn likes the same indie music he does. They are soulmates, Harry knows it.

The crowd pushes against them as more and more people enter the pub. Harry can’t see Louis now and Harry doubt he’ll be able to find his way back to him.

“Let me offer you this beer as an apology.” Harry extends his hand. “t was for my friend but I can’t see him from here and I don’t think I’ll find him again.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says, taking the glass. “I’m Zayn, by the way.” I know, Harry doesn’t say.

“ ’M Harry. If you’re ever out of cash and need alcohol, just smile at the bartender, he’ll take care of you. Tried and tested.”

“I might try it one of these days,” Zayn says. Harry freezes. Does this mean - ?

Niall starts singing now and Harry’s thankful for his intervention before he could ask something potentially embarrassing.

“He’s good, yeah?” Zayn asks, after a while.

“Definitely,” Harry agrees. “Can you believe that he formed this band on the first day of uni? Guy makes friends at the drop of a hat.”

“He seems like a nice lad. I haven’t talked to him much but my friend Liam is friends with him. He dragged me here tonight. Said I was miserable for staying in all the time.”

“Nothing wrong with staying in.”

“Truth be told, I’ve sort of become a hermit since I broke up with my boyfriend.” Zayn says casually.

Okay.

Okay.

Harry can deal with this.

Harry can be adult about this and not break into a delighted grin.

Harry is mature. Very mature.

“That’s sad.” Harry tries to not to sound too fake.

“I know I might seem like a terrible person for saying this but I don’t really feel sad. Like, he was fun and nice and I like him but I didn’t feel anything like, you know?” Zayn rubs the back of his head with his palm. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you with things you’re not even interested in. I’m honestly not so open to people I’ve just met.”

“Nah, it’s all right.” Harry says. Suppressing a grin has become even more difficult now.

Niall’s voice carries through the crowd in the background and there are all these people shouting but it feels like Zayn and Harry are in their own little world, untouched by the noise and sweat around them.

They stay silent for a while enjoying the music. The crowd keeps pushing against them putting them together. Harry’s not complaining.

Somebody jostles their way to the back and Harry is pushed against Zayn’s chest. Zayn puts his arm around to steady him and Harry feels he might just pass out at this close contact.

“Sorry about that.” Harry fumbles.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” Zayn says. A blush creeps up his cheek.

Harry is too flustered to reply.

“It’s getting stuffy in here. Do you want to go out?” Zayn says. Harry nods in agreement.

They fight their way through the crowd and finally stumble out the door. Cool air fans Harry’s face. It’s a quiet night, a few cars trundle down the road every now and then, but otherwise the street is silent.

They settle against the wall of the pub, the air cool and pleasant between them.

“Do you want a smoke?” Zayn says, offering Harry a cigarette. Harry shakes his head. 

“Not a big fan of damaged lungs.” He’s only half joking. 

Zayn laughs. “I get it. I’ve been trying to quit for ages, but I miss it too much. Will definitely quit one day. Just not today.”

“Doesn’t sound like fun,” Harry says. Zayn takes a drag of his cigarette. 

Silence.

Zayn’s phone beeps. His face breaks into a mischievous smile as he reads whatever pops up on the screen.

He looks up at Harry, a playful expression marking his face. “Are you up for an adventure?”

The first thing that enters Harry’s mind is: Are you sure, Harry?

The second is: What the heck?

“Sad Symphony are playing a secret show tonight, somewhere. Let’s go see them.”

Harry says yes in a heartbeat. He only feels marginally bad about ditching Niall. He’s mostly done with his set anyway.

“How do we find them?”

***

Sad Symphony is a notoriously media shy band. They never publicised their concerts, but somehow throngs of indie loving fans always found their way to whatever random location they were having a gig at. Harry remembers one time they sent emails to random fans who then spread the information in a span of five hours. The theatre was sold out that day.

“According to this tweet somebody saw Mitski getting an ice cream at the Baskin Robbins in Brechton Street about an hour and a half ago,” Harry reads from his phone. They are at a bus stop, the lone streetlight flickering weakly under the moonlight. Harry feels the excitement thrumming in his veins. Sad Symphony, Zayn, and a secret mission.

“Let’s take the bus over there and see what we can find.” Zayn says, grabbing Harry’s hand pulling him inside the bus. Other than Zayn and Harry there are only two other people on the bus, a middle aged man-probably a late night worker, and a guy blissfully lost in his headphones.

They take the last seat in the bus. Zayn settles against the window, angling himself towards Harry. Harry doesn’t feel flustered under his gaze anymore, like this is something they do- ditch their friends and hail lonely buses to unknown destinations. Harry likes the sound of it.

“You know, Jake was always my favourite member of the band. He’s such a pretentious tease,” Harry says and shows Zayn his last Instagram post. He’s in a dressing room, the sign on the door cleverly half hidden behind his unruly mass of hair.

Zayn leans in. “That looks like C. Or an O.” He pulls out his own phone and googles pubs near the Brechton street area. Three options come up- The Orion, Claire’s, Mclaren’s.

“It’s probably Claire’s. It’s the one closest to Brechton Street.” Harry suggests.

“But that was almost an hour and half ago. Mitski would have had plenty of to go and come back to Orion if he wanted.”

“We wait then, until we get further update.” Zayn says.

The bus dwindles down the street, Harry adjusts his beanie and shift to the other end of the seat, leaning against the window so that he’s facing Zayn.

“I didn’t like them when I heard them the first time. Only said it so that I could appear cool to my sister. She was a proper hipster that one.” Harry reminisces. Sad Symphony remind him of being young and loving things without fear.

“That’s cute.” Zayn laughs. “I think the first song of theirs I ever heard was ‘Your Best American Girl’. My fifteen-year-old recently heartbroken self thought it was the best thing I’d heard in ages.”

“Where are you from?” Harry asks, even though he already knows. He’s a creepy pathetic stalker sometimes.

“Bradford,” Zayn replies. “My dad’s from Pakistan, my mum is from around here. Studying Music and Art in uni.” There’s a pause. “What about you?”

“Holmes Chapel. Both parents from England. Studying English,” Harry says, matching Zayn’s style and tenor.

“English,” Zayn says amused. “Tell me a poem.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t say ‘I’ve read Shakespeare too.’ I get that one a lot whenever I tell them I study English,” Harry says. “So this one’s one of my faves-

We can die by it, if not live by love

And if unfit for tombs and hearse

Our legend be, it will be fit for verse.”

“You’re such a sap.” Zayn throws the last dregs of his cigarette at Harry. Harry dodges it and laughs. “You probably wrote something like this for your first crush. You seem like the kind, writing them a letter, confessing your love.”

“There was no poem in the letter,” Harry says, fake affronted. “I know another poem by the way,” His heart beats fast and he steadies his breath. The air suddenly seems to go out the windows. He gives Zayn what he thinks is an assured smile.

“License my roving hands, and let them go,

Before, behind, between, above, below.”

Shops fly past behind Zayn. From his peripheral vision Harry can see the man in the front of the bus bobbing his head to the music. Zayn’s cologne fills the air. Zayn shifts. In one quick movement he has closed the gap between them, his hands coming down gently on Harry’s cheeks. He tilts his head sideways, his mouth mere centimetres from Harry’s. He rubs a gentle thumb against Harry’s cheeks and then kisses him.

The kiss is sweet, but fleeting, like cotton candy dissolving into his mouth. Zayn’s mouth is gone as sudden as it came and Harry just sits there grinning like an idiot.

“Didn’t expect you to put out in the first date.” Zayn says.

“Wasn’t aware this was a date.”

A beep echoes. “We’ve got a location.” Zayn says. This time it’s Harry dragging him out the bus.

They get down at bus stop and follow the trail of tweets from an update account. Still holding hands.

“Don’t you feel like a detective.”

“Creepy Stalker, more like.” Zayn says. “So according to this the band must be playing at some pub near this intersection.”

Harry whirls around, straining his ear to listen. The slightest sound of bass floating in from somewhere. He grabs Zayn and runs in the direction, which he hopes is correct.

The quiet houses are left behind and they enter a market street. The sound gets louder, they can see more people now.

The Orion. There it is- the only source of light in the entire street. People stream in and out the door and now they can hear it clearly- the closing strains of ‘Fake Empire’.

“Race you to the door.” Zayn says and rushes to the door. Harry follows close behind.

***

Zayn and Harry walk back to campus. It’s five in the morning, the sun peeking out the clouds. Harry feels happy. The entire night had been a whirlwind of emotions, feels like he fast forwarded a year’s worth of potential emotions on a single night.

“So, that’s my stop,” Harry says, stopping in front of the door.

“Okay.” Zayn rocks on his heels as if debating which way to go. Harry stands with his hand in his pocket, unsure of what to go. Zayn looks around, his hands coming up to rub the nape of his neck.

“Tonight was fun, see you around after the break?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He doesn’t want to sound like a douche by seeming unresponsive, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Gimme your phone. I’ll call you?”

Harry hands him his phone and Zayn types his in.

“See you around, Zayn says again before kissing him on his cheeks. Harry stands watching him as he disappears down the curve of the road.

Harry looks at the new contact saved on his phone. Zayn ;)

/p

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr. [ mayabayselfie ](http://mayabayselfie.tumblr.com)


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